Beyond the Grave
by juliasejanus
Summary: Yassen/Alex SLASH Alex Rider survives another assassination attempt. MI6 places a kill on sight order on the fifteen year old. In Krakow, running out of options Alex crosses the path of the presumed dead assassin, Cossack. Yassen offers Alex security at a price. Story inspired by Suzie Shooter Blood to Wild Blood.
1. Chapter 1

Tulip Jones reread the internal security report on Damien Hargreaves. The man had gleefully confessed to killing their SCORPIA mole. Finally caught out after an anonymous tip off to the CIA. The truth was six months ago he had set Alex Rider up. Hargreaves had been the handler, who had used his position to set up the assassination of their teen agent along with three agents and their Polish contact. Alex Rider had somehow survived that shootout, but was now missing presumed dead. There was a negligible chance he had been on the run and disappeared after the kill order was in place. Last sighting in a mafia hang out, the fifteen year old had entered but not left. With no backup, no savings, no friends to rely on, he had run for three days before the trail went cold. The real traitor had painted the situation that Rider had been a loose cannon. She had believed the tampered psychological assessment, which had portrayed the teenage hero as paranoid and unstable. As the Head of MI6 Special Operations dug deeper, the removal of the teenager from his former foster parents had been as a result of a fabricated threat assessment written by Hargreaves, which had forced Rider back to England.

Without any sightings or rumours concerning Alex in six months, she closed his file. There was no point organising the funeral, there was no one left to mourn Alex. Not when the Pleasures had washed their hands of him without a fight. Tulip sat back and unwrapped another mint, another sweetie to mask the bitterness of failure. She had failed John and now Alex. Maybe it was time to hand over to Crawley and work with numbers and files, not send agents and children to early graves.

….

After fifteen years as a hitman, Yassen Gregorovich had planned his own demise, using the fact Cray was both dangerously unpredictable and deranged. It had not be hard to push that man's buttons, considering his plan for a glorious new world was doomed to failure. Cossack was marked for termination if this project failed, anyway. He had already blotted his copy book, when he had not eliminated Alex Rider when instructed. He had alternative employment arranged, with a Ukrainian passport and complete legitimate background, assuming a dead man's identity. It paid to plan meticulously when you only had enemies.

SCORPIA did not forget and did not forgive. The only way to escape a certain death for attempting to retire was to make them believe you were already dead. The one factor in Cossack's favour was Alex Rider. Sending the boy to Julia Rothman would be the catalyst for the organisations fall. The teenager would uncover the truth, as that bitch had orphaned Hunter's only son. In the power vacuum left by the death of Max Grendel, the organisation had been strategically weakened as the directors were pitted against each other and the current chairman had not consolidated her position. Yassen knew Alex would not fail, that boy was even more deadly than his father, as the teenage asset was no patriot and had no loyalty to MI6 or the CIA; who had used him so ruthlessly. He did not even feel guilty for sending Alex to Venice. Rothman would only see the boy as a means to enact revenge on a man dead fourteen years, a man who had never loved her; as Hunter had ultimately been loyal to his wife.

Escaping from the chaos after the crash at Heathrow had been easy. Alex had been believed him dead and would pass on that information to his former employers when he found Malogosto. MI6 would assume a backup team from SCORPIA had recovered their incriminating evidence and despised of the assassin's body accordingly. It wasn't as if Yassen officially existed anyway. All of Estrov had been wiped from history. Now he would start anew once again. In a year or so he would be settled, with all his old contacts dead or in hiding.

…..

Roman Petrushkov liked his head of security. An old friend from their days as street kids in Moscow. Roman now ran money laundering, drugs, prostitutes and arms through his clubs in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Odessa and the Black Sea resorts with links to Western Europe, North and South America and the Far East. Yasha now went by the name Yakob Blenkin. His old friend worked hard, never complained and offered salient advice. His operation was now effortless efficient and feared.

The crime lord was well aware that Yasha had formerly worked for SCORPIA. Roman was keen to exploit the expertise of an expert in slow and quick deaths, accidents, interrogation and who enjoyed his work. He also knew of the ex-assassin's private life. The man had an apartment in Moscow, a villa in North Cyprus, a yacht in Yalta and a cabin in the woods south of Donetsk. He moved as needed, his homes shared with a sixteen year old English boy: lithe, blond and very handsome. The gangster was not one to disapprove of unusual sexual practices, not when he himself enjoyed liaisons with both women and men. Yasha was also possessive and protective of his toy.

He had blurry photographs of the sixteen year old wearing designer shorts, a diamond encrusted ankle bracelet and who took all his master dished out considering the scars on his flesh . Roman had watched the pair fuck on a grainy video. Yasha open enough to allow his friend's voyeurism, but with the understanding of looking but no touching. The surveillance all known of by the security expert. The bugs had provided no background for the boy, who did not talk of his past, only interested in Yasha, who was his everything, like a good slave.

Such a teenager, bought as a virgin, must have cost thousands.

….

Alex finished the third volume on the Psychology and Physiology of Pain by Dr. Three. Not a thesis normal sixteen year old would read, but the next book on his list was the Processes of Rapid decomposition and concealment of remains by the same author. It was a fact that Yassen had no normal books and the teenager was in no position to impose for anything beyond the basics of living and breathing and the price that came with. His obedience and payment in kind were his only options as he had no friends, no money and no other choice.

Seven months ago he was sure he was about to die, cornered by enemies and out of options, when once again Yassen refused to kill him, for the mere fact Alex had stood his ground and not flinched when expecting a bullet. Had he attempted to run he would have died. If he ran now, it would be only hours until Yassen finished the job he had postponed since March 2001.

The flat had no radio, no TV, just a kindle loaded with books that would make normal people vomit. Rather than continue and read, the sixteen year old went to the treadmill, for a warm up before the programmed runs all brutal and intense. The life setting for both occupants of this space, a burned MI6 agent now assumed dead and an ex-SCORPIA assassin who faked his own death two years ago. What would Mrs Jones think of him, hiding out with a third rate gangster's main enforcer. Roman's little piece of the action was below the radar of the intelligence agencies and with bribes in place the local cops; all were happy with the status quo. In a decade or so, Yassen would retire to his yacht and villa and live off the bonds, savings and investments accrued though pain and suffering. Alex no longer championing or saving anyone, not when MI6 put the shoot on sight order on a fifteen year old. He had used up the last of his nine lives, when the spray of bullets had killed the contact and team of agents, bastards who had ignored and ridiculed Alex in Krakow. They were dead he was not. Alex pounded for another half hour, planning his tactics for close combat training, knowing he would lose. He had won three times in six months. Life was mostly studying, keeping fit and trying to figure out what Yassen gained from this relationship. The former spy surmised it was possession of the one thing the killer loved more than killing, he was a kept man. Better than being a corpse.

As a pragmatist, Alex knew full well all his options for a normal life disappeared in 2001, when he'd attracted the attention of Alan Blunt. All because his uncle had pathologically conditioned him to be a spy. He was never going to finish school, date or marry. His conditioning meant his personality was fluid enough to accept even the most oppressive situations and life here was far from oppressive. Rules were simple and the sex was good, Yasha was a considerate lover and Alex was happy to be his sub. They were compatible. It brought into sharp focus just how wrong life had been in San Francisco, when his call back to London had come as a relief to both him and the Pleasures. Yasha did not consider him broken and unfixable, just a realist. Life had definitely given Alex Rider a sackful of lemons, luckily he preferred sour to sweet.

…

Yassen Gregorovich knew Alex would be kneeling in meditation as he opened the door to his small apartment. No fancy security needed, not with two trained killers living there. Alex had no qualms about killing now. One of Roman's competitors had tried to break in two months ago. None the wiser, Yassen had returned home to find a corpse wrapped in plastic ready for disposal and the unlucky survivor waiting for interrogation. The memory brought a smile to the Russian's face. In the eighteen months he'd worked for Roman, he'd relaxed a lot. There was honour and camaraderie with a fellow survivor of the streets. Both men were equals, Roman fighting his way up to be as his own boss with an uneasy alliance with both fellow mafia and the state.

Just before Christmas, Yassen had been with Krakow for a few days relaxation when Alex had crossed his path. Every instinct told him killing him would have been easier, kinder even; he had never expect the teenager to suggest this, a relationship or as close to one that both of them could function with. Roman thought he had bought Alex as a virgin.

After fourteen hours of the usual mix of boredom and routine, Yakob was happy to relax. What would Alex request tonight? Pain? Sensuality? Pleasure? He loosened his tie after checking the hall, door and neighbours, noting nothing unusual. He silently entered his home and smiled as Alex was dressed for close combat training, the furniture moved to allow maximum range of movement. It was a signal that Alex was likely to loose the match, the boon for the winner was free reign until dawn. Yasha was in need of a good work out. He knew all of Alex's weaknesses, all would be exploited for his victory. Tonight, would be spent pushing Alex's boundaries: exploring both his pain and pleasure responses and expanding his exposure to bondage and sensory depravation.


	2. Chapter 2

The state security apparatus in Russia was feared both at home and abroad, nowhere near as brutal as in its heyday, but its information network was vast. Fear was still the main method of control. The concerns of the nine directorates were vast and intertwined. A teenager, a foreign boy had become known to Directorates 1, 2 and 3 in 2001; the Russian State saw this child as a hero, not a tool or a weapon. The agencies in London, Washington and Sydney had blackmailed and threatened this gifted individual into black ops undercover work. Like a Russian tragedy, it had nor ended well.

Now, MI6 had closed their file on their missing agent, wiping all knowledge of Alex Rider from their systems. Creating a ghost, just as the Russians had created Cossack when Estrov and all its inhabitants and history had been erased in 1982. Andrei Alexandrov, Deputy Director of Intelligence for Directorate 2 was aware Cossack was alive and working in Russia, the man was effectively retired and whilst a known threat, it was one that could be useful to them if handled correctly. He looked at the photo of the ex-assassin and his toy, the boy who should be at school, living with a family; not reduced to life as a slave. Cossack had kept the boy hidden, safe from the MI6 trackers sent to eliminate the boy. Enough time had passed for Mrs. Jones to think the boy long dead. Alexandrov had only become aware of the situation after Rider had disappeared. Their agent in place with the drug cartel in Odessa had informed them of Cossack's new pet. Information which would have only been filed away for blackmail except the archivist had recognised Alex Rider.

In the new era of openness and international terrorism meant he should have informed his counterparts abroad, but Alex did not deserve a traitor's death, but a reward for his heroism and sacrifices that should not be forgotten. With the closing of his file by MI6, Jones had untied his hands. He could offer Rider protection and the chance of a life beyond Cossack's apartment. He would be open about it, as dealings with the mafia were best kept cordial. He would personally approach Cossack as Rider was probably bound by contracts of employment, no matter how sordid in nature. The man drank down his now cold glass of tea and phoned for car, driver and bodyguard to be available. He stood and went to his office safe to get his own sidearm.

…

In the early afternoon, the club in southern Moscow was quiet, deliveries made that morning and the service staff had already left. Roman was in his office as he called for Cossack to join him and his very important guest.

Cossack entered the room and noted the bodyguard and recognised the man sat drinking tea with Roman. "General Alexandrov, an unexpected pleasure." As part of his contract with SCORPIA, Yassen had not worked in Russia in consideration of his past. His only trip back had been to kill his childhood oppressors, to avenge their cruelty and to turn himself from victim to master of his destiny.

X

The grey haired fifty two year old smiled at the politeness from the contract killer, "I have admired your work from afar for many years. I understand you are enjoying your retirement. The fall of your former employers has benefitted many, even myself and Roman. I must salute you for your hand in sending Alex to Malagosto as avenging angel."

Cossack's mouth briefly smiled, the FSB fully aware of his past. "Considering MI6's track record, it was inevitable their illegally used child star died rather than embarrass them in the future. Ms. Jones has cleared house very efficiently."

Alexandrov smiled "Alex, like you, is very functioning corpse."

The former assassin's face remained relaxed, he knew just how ruthlessly efficient state security could be, he had only just escaped execution at 14 by becoming a slave himself. "I have protected Alex, promised him safety. I will not betray him."

Alexandrov sighed, "I wish to protect him, and I have the full backing of the president and my government. Alex Rider is a hero to the state. We are honour bound to help him. The reason I came to you is to understand Alex's position. Does he want to work for Roman or finish his education? With our help Alex can have a life, one without his former abusers ever being aware of. I understand if he wants to remain with his friends here, with you. No one else has shown him any loyalty."

Yassen wondered how much state security knew. "It is best we talk out future plans over with Alex."

…..

His breakfast had been cereal eaten just after noon, as Yassen ate out most days, he only kept simple to prepare food in the apartment. Fruit and snacks mostly, as Alex had learned all he knew about cooking from Jack, so was abysmal in the kitchen. Occasionally he rustled up pasta, but normally he stuck with toast or sandwiches and drank water. Alex had no fixed timetable, but kept active in an effort not to be bored. Also mimicking the assassins life plan, who exercised rigorously every day, slept little and kept odd hours working for Roman. The call to come in today had not been anticipated, but was not unusual. Several times, Alex had packed up and gone to their safe house; mostly just training, but there was still the need to expect betrayal or the fact Alex had a kill on sight order and the hunters got too close. He shuddered remembering those three days on the run, he had killed two mercenaries and probably paralysed another.

The price MI6 had put on his head meant even Roman would collect if he had known, it was only Cossack who had kept him safe. Alex Rider had disappeared without leaving a trail, something a kid with no backup, support network or money could have done, in fact something only someone as talented and meticulous as Cossack could achieve. He had nearly had an emotional response when Henderson had let it slip MI6 had not found Cossack's body at Heathrow.

Dead, unmourned and forgotten, RIP Alex Rider and Cossack.

The evidence in Krakow pointed to the fact an injured fugitive had crossed paths with an old enemy, one that did not want or need MI6's blood money and was now in a unmarked grave somewhere in Poland. In a year or two, a new identity, a bit of decent plastic surgery and with Cossack as his handler, a demon would arise to take on contracts here in Russia, to kill, maim and torture. Not revenge, just the only life open to a person like Alex, like Yasha. Enough time for Roman to believe Cossack had trained him. He would pay Yasha back, but this sexual relationship would not end. It was inevitable, Alex was never going to trust anyone halfway normal and the mere thought of anyone touching him apart from Yasha made him freak. Something that would have to be addressed at some point, as a killer you sometimes had to seduce your targets or as cover.

Alex put his bowl on the side, he remained silent during the day. Diving the impression the apartment was unoccupied. The blinds at an angle that no observer could see through but enough natural light illuminated the room, even so Alex could negotiate this space effortlessly blindfolded after one walk through.

SCORPIA training was the only reason he was alive today. Another thing that Cossack had been right about, he had been given the skills to survive, even without crossing paths with Cossack, he had killed and would have kept on killing until they left him alone or sent someone better to finish the job. In truth, he had been at the end of his tether, after days without sleep, both dehydrated and severely hypoglycaemic, he would have welcomed Cossack's bullet. Only he had silently followed the man to a safe house and been offered sanctuary, a service with a price.

Lying on the floor in a pool of light beneath the main window, Alex read about chemical decomposition. The first few chapters on opportunistic burial or concealment. Then dismemberment and dispersal of remains in drains, in municipal refuse or best of all in the post to your chosen target, for maximum psychological impact. Photos, drawings and examples used by serial killers, spies and governments, from single murders to mass graves. He was just starting the chapter on exposure and animal dispersement when he heard several sets of footsteps on the stairs. Then the key in the lock, it had to be Yakob with guests. He put the kindle on the coffee table and silently ran to the closet in the bedroom, to hide behind the clothes, covering himself with a piece of cardboard.

Alex could make out the host telling his guests to make themselvesves at home, when Yassen opened the closet door and murmured softly. "Get dressed, my guests wish to reassure themselves of your health and well being."

The crouched figure asked "FSB?"

"Friends, I assure you. They also offer sanctuary, not that I trust them; but you are a hero in their eyes."

Alex understood that any good will did not extend to Yakob, as such. What the hell did they want? Probably use him as an asset, what else was he good for. In a sour mood, Alex looked through his small pile of clothes, ignoring the few respectablele pieses bought for his occasional trips outside, usually when matched with wig, glasses and a hat. He pulled on booty shorts and a mesh shirt, all the bruises, bites, cuts and abrasions on show for their guests. The very picture of a well kept pet entered the living room. He went straight over to his master and knelt at his feet, ignoring the guests. Alex wanted all to know this was his choice, his life and they could stuff any ideas of separating him from Yakob.

The General watched as the youth gracefully entered the room, silent, eyes down cast, hand behind his back. The clothes provocative and leaving nothing to the imagination. He noted love bites, extensive bruising, all signs of a sado-masocistic homosexual relationship. "Hello Mr. Rider. We have not met before, I am General Andrei Alexandrov. I am honoured to meet you. I am in your debt as you are acquainted with my nephew, Dimitry. He was imprisoned at Point Blanc Academy, you were instrumental in freeing him."

Alex looked up at the man with a very personal reason to help him. "The clone? What happened to Dima's Grief twin?"

"Dead. Had an unfortunate accident in the holding cells. My brother in law, General Ivanov was a popular man." Normally care was taken with interrogation, no physical harm to their prisoners. Once the clone had signed his confession, the guards had made their anger know. The beatings had been carefully orchestrated, brutal but controlled, the aim had been to leave the murderer in constant agony over weeks until the broken prisoner had drowned himself in his toilet.

Alex relaxed and made his position known, that he was happy with the status quo because he did not trust this man even if he owed him. "You can see I am well cared for by Yakob. I want for nothing."

Andrei nodded his head. "So, I offer an alternative future. I can provide papers, a legal identity, so you could attend school, maybe even to university and then make decisions regarding working. I would even go as far to offer joint guardianship, but I understand your loyalty to your friend, to your master."

Alex could not help but crack a smile at the absurdity at the offer of a normal life. "Shall I make tea. Its seems we had much to discuss." Hard bargains needed to be made, considering Alex was for once in position with some bargaining power. First to protect Cossack, next he need time to consider the full possibilities of government backing. He knew Cossack's plan of easing him into work, with the legend as Cossack's apprentice. More than a mere asset, as he would be a fully trained operative with a SCORPIA skills base. It was a win win situation for the Russians as Alex could remain freelance but work for them when needed as a ghost. Officially, Alex Rider was dead. His fingerprints already erased with scars. He would need new dental work and cosmetic surgery, but that was part of Cossack's plan. He already had a cover, a new identity, with a Ukranian passport stating he was from an orphanage, one that had burnt down two years ago. He did not need the Russians, but their help would make everything easier. He would run with Cossack, he could stay or they both could play the game and see how it played out.


	3. Chapter 3

The advance of the training timetable for Alex had yet to be cleared with Roman, as Yassen wanted his friend's cooperation and for Alex to start with small jobs agreed between them before more lucrative work was arranged. The plan meant Alex needed to see a surgeon sooner rather than later to subtly change his face to be more ethnically Russian. Yassen had stated it would be work on his nose and cheekbones.

It had not been a surprise to Roman that State Security had been keeping tabs on his assassin friend. The fact a General had asked after the English boy was more intriguing. An offer of returning to London had been turned down as the boy preferred his owner to going back to his foster parents.

Yassen had then sighed, "Its not just sex between us. We are kindred spirits. I am mentoring him, training him. In six to eight months, the boy will be ready to work. Not as muscle or as entertainment but in my specialities of cleaning, information retrieval and all around terror. He is an excellent student. The deal with the FSB is I can enjoy my retirement, but my boy has to dance to their tune."

Roman had wondered on his friend's change from loner to sexual predator, as with everything this boy was more than he seemed. One Yassen had probably saved from an unsavoury fate and seen their similarities. It was as close as his old friend could get to saying he was feeling his age and needing to pass on his legacy, or possibly he was 'emotionally compromised', but the gangster doubted that. "I would have thought they would have killed you both. They know you were SCORPIA and they want the boy trained with your skills, controlled by them and they will use you to keep the boy in line. Your toy is in love with you and they assume you are with him. Welcome back to Russia, we all are slaves to the state in one form or other. If you wanted to be truly free, you should have stayed in the West."

"Free? The governments with supposed democracy and rule of law are just as ruthless and as controlling as our own, they just hide their true face better." Yassen said with justified bitterness, MI6 had been as cold, manipulative and as ruthless as the KGB and Sharkovsky. It had been MI6 that had mismanaged Hunter's extraction, leading to his death. The same agency had hunted down Hunter's son.

…..

Dr. Maxim Koroleyev was an expert on psychological conditioning. He had worked for years vetting high profile FSB agents for undercover work. He read the file on young Vasily and the file on Alex Rider. He had to iron out any inconsistencies in the boy's established personality and his new legend. The homosexual relationship with his SCORPIA trained handler was not unusual in any way. Training of apprentices usually involved intensely close bonds. One the FSB would use to keep control of their new master assassin. He took out a new journal, none of these notes would be on computer or filed at the Lubiyanka. His notes were for his personnel use only.

He pulled on his coat to take the metro to the address in an apartment block near Kolomenskaya. No record of these sessions, he had retired two months ago and was writing a text book. His new patient more interesting than discussing past cases. A child broken by operations and resurrecting himself as a weapon, cold and ruthess without his past morals or heroics.

…..

The deal hammered out with the FSB was a subtle one. In a year, Alex would be introduced as the product of a secret experiment in conditioning of orphans using SCORPIA training methods. The asset to be run though a non FSB handler, to prevent blowback. He would be Andrei's pet assassin. MI6 had already destroyed a teenager, and other agencies had flirted with the same idea. His contract outlined only occasional very high security projects and not just assassinations, and some training. Alex was a perfect weapon.

The biggest change was he would spend time with other trainers, he was no longer Yassen's exclusive property. A part of the teenager did not want anything to change. Sure, he would no longer have to deal with boredom, but he had been safe from all, even his own demons. Comfortable with the Russian's possessiveness. The only thing he had not looked forward to was the psychological assessment, the professional would get in his head and then probably conclude his subject had achieved perfect disassociation and become a cold hard killer. Proving MI6 had achieved its goal, that everything that had been Alex Rider had died due to their brutal neglect, blackmail and betrayal. Would he save the day again? Instead of talking or solving the puzzle he'd just kill any future Sarov or Cray or Sayle with no qualms and no hesitation. With a gun, his hands, a knife or really slowly while squeezing them for every piece of information they knew.

It was late, after midnight; Yassen would be home soon. God, he needed a distraction.

As the rooms darkened, Alex went through his katas twice before showering.

He pulled off his workout clothes and cleaned himself carefully, glad he only had to shave once a week. From his old life, he missed American plumbing and the perfection of a steady stream of hot water. Here, it was always lukewarm and more a dribble than a power shower.

He dried himself and put the towel back on the rail and hung his clothes on the hook behind the door. Naked, he went to meditate in the hall.

His hair still wet, when his lover returned.

He spoke, as Yassen stood before him. "Yasha, would you keep me as yours and yours alone if you could?"

"Trust me, possessiveness would force you to leave eventually. This way, you work, you build your own safe havens and you can have this as well, if you so wish. Together as long as you need me. I prefer that you need and want me rather than are forced into this. Not a slave, Alex. Never a slave."

Alex looked into his lover's pale blue eyes, noting his calm expression. He had always offered safety, not a prison, not a cage. "The psychologist I saw this morning stated I needed to seduce a woman. I find the idea slightly repellent. My first test, but I do not want to hurt you. I'd rather be asked to kill or torture someone than fuck them.

Alex changed position, head down, no eye contact, submissive with his arms outstretched, awaiting handcuffs. He wanted bondage play tonight.

"I will shower first. Wait for me here."

The tall blond, washed himself in cold water to invigorate himself after his long day. He pondered his past. It had been after Hunter's death, before Yassen had started to explore his sexuality, that he had been very attracted by his late mentor, only he would never have acted on his attraction as he was never going to be submissive to anyone again; because Hunter had been every inch a dominant. In his periodic downtime, he explored the specialist clubs, learning the etiquette of being master, of exploring his needs without abusing his partner's wants, health and wellbeing. It had taken time to find out that Alex was happy as a sub, needed pain, not that he liked it, but used pain to drive his demons away, to maintain his inner calm and centre himself. His lover had made it clear to Alexandrov that he was in a consensual sexual relationship, despite his youth; Yakob and he were together, any deals or future work had to work around that. He was not interested in school, family or normal. MI6 had shown Alex that he had no business in Sabina's or Tom's lives anymore. Yasha could look after himself as could Alex. He would never cross back over to that type of life, never delude himself like his father and uncle, it was pretence to try and have a relationship or a family who had no knowledge of their true selves.

…

Yassen was awake early, for once his insomnia not unwelcome. He was watching his lover sleep. His eyes drifted to the pale skin, marred by scars and marked by freckles and moles. The early morning sun illuminating their bedroom, the dark sheets in contrast with both their pale completions. Alex laid on his back, his right arm over his head. Soft snores interspaced by sighs. He took on the perfection of the hairless chest, dark nipples, six pack, ribs and the jut of hip bones. God, just the sight of his naked lover was enough to turn him on. He reached over to stroke the soft flesh dipping from the sharp peak of hip to the trimmed pubic hair. The flaccid cock covering the perfect balls. All his, as no one else had laid with Alex. Rather than his image of cold and unemotional, he was insatiable, as his fingers traced over the younger man's cock. Long, thin, uncut and now filling with blood from the softest of stimulation; the one advantage of his young age.

….

Alex looked in the mirror and brushed his aching teeth. The metal retainer was designed to change his perfect western smile into those expected of a child growing up without regular checkups or Rider genetics. The retired orthodontist was one who had worked for the mafia for years, helping those who could afford his fees escape detection or change identity. Three molars encased in gold to remove traces of earlier white cosmetic fillings on teeth chipped in Thailand. He was told to drink black tea to stain his teeth, to look more ethnically Russian. Maybe he would grow to like it. The dental work was a slow process, he would wear a retainer to sleep in for life to achieve the correct level of imperfection. He was being rebranded, a process started in Poland when Yassen had used acid to burn his finger pads, forever changing his fingerprints. Something SCORPIA taught to disguise a cadaver, that and a bullet in the mouth. Alex had not complained about the braces in case Yassen changed his mind and removed his teeth with pliers and no anaesthetic.

Tomorrow he was going clubbing, to act out as the normal eighteen year old depicted on his fake ID, wanting to drink, dance and chat. His interactions observed and criticised. He was going to charm some woman, not a girl. Either a quickie in an alley or seduction at her lodgings. No killing, no maiming, but a test in passing for what he wasn't. The young man in the mirror was a chameleon. He play this game in Russia, Iraq, New York, Japan or Paris. His date would never guess he would be thinking of interrogating her, strangling her and disposing of her lifeless body.


	4. Chapter 4

The base chosen for his show and tell assessment made the Special Forces Camp in Wales seem like a five star resort. The buildings looked like they had been abandoned in the 1960's. He had slept in an office with his instructor/minder. Today, he was demonstrating his skills for use in black ops: assassination and interrogation to a select few sponsors. His skills for hire, then he would be paid generously for his work. All activities to be approved of by both Alexandrov and Yakob.

Ivan Kuschkov was at a loss concerning this orphan, as a father himself his instincts screamed to get the kid away from Alexandrov's control. Seventeen and already a killer, who effortlessly followed orders. The kid spoke little about his past, except pride at being selected for training after a fire at his orphanage. Listed as dead, the teenager was a ghost.

As Alex ate is breakfast rations, his tea scorchingly hot and bitter, unsweetened unlike the Master Sergeant's brew. He read the man's body language and could see his disquiet. "You read my file. I have read yours. You have worked training operatives for longer than I've been alive. I am no different from volunteers in the past. I have just walked a different path, one more brutal, but I would not change it. I have been trained like Cossack, the best assassin SCORPIA ever produced. A broken child, with no past, my future is set as a weapon. Do not think of me as innocent or helpless or as even human, Ivan. I am an empty vessel, all traces of humanity and empathy removed." He smiled showing off his crooked smile, pulling his mouth to the left. The lopsidedness caused by months of wearing a brace. His whole face and mannerisms changed by that simple orthodontic treatment. His nose sculpted subtly as well under the knife of an artist at a clinic in the Black Sea.

The old soldier shook his head, "And the bastard raping you, torturing you? You think I can't see those marks on you when you shower. Inhuman, no one deserves that."

"Better than an unmarked grave at fifteen. That fate probably still awaits me. At least you Andrei, Roman and Yakob would mourn my passing. You hate my past, but you still see a boy before you. Its an illusion. I haven't been a child for a long time. I'm as world weary as you, old man."

The man laughed, "Less of the old, cheeky. I'm here to keep you alive. I promise you that I will do that to the best of my abilities while we are partners. I was once a young buck picked from my comrades to train as a sniper. You are far more accomplished than I ever was."

….

Dimitry Viktorovich Ivanov was one of several hundred new recruits in training as FSB officers, he had many advantages considering his background. He had breezed through basic training, it was child's play to a graduate of Suvorov. Now they were attending lectures and demonstrations expanding his skills and knowledge, testing him to see which branch of the security service he showed aptitude for. His uncle had cryptically told him to pay attention to the assassination instructor, a man trained by in the SCORPIA methods by a graduate of Malagosto.

The group of twelve cadets stood to attention as the Sergeant in charge of the Firing Range barked out safety instructions and told them if they insulted the instructor, not to go crying to anyone if the bastard decided to shoot them, as last year a stupid asshole had been crippled for his rudeness. The youth teaching was rumoured to only be seventeen, but already an expert at killing and maiming, who had been taught by inhumanly brutal methods that demanded complete perfection.

A young man dressed in black arrived with another sergeant. The cadet wondered of they had attended school together, as Dimitry vaguely recognised the blond with brown eyes.

The lecture started. "My name is Vassily, I am here to instruct you in marksmanship as you have all been assessed as talented snipers. I will instruct you over then next three hours on instinctual firing as you are all well versed on the basics. The best marksman acts as one with his weapon. The target or targets tracked, movements anticipated, aiming as natural as exhaling. You need not know identities or crimes or reasons for their liquidation, just that they are your job to eliminate your target. Failure is not acceptable, only perfection is. Life is not black and white, so do not restrict yourself into thinking in terms of friends or enemies; as an assassin you can only rely on yourself. All others are targets. The best assassins have no friends, no family and no loyalty, only compliance to orders. Those who pay you can easily turn against you."

The man then loaded a Markov handgun, the targets popped up and he looked away before firing, each target hit with a perfect head shot. "This is the accuracy you will be aiming for. Others shall instruct you on tradecraft, hand to hand combat, cleaning and disposal." The man effortlessly made his gun safe and then stated "Head shots recommended, always assume your target is wearing a kevlar vest. The heart is also a smaller target. Trust your instincts when making your shot. Your aim is always a kill shot."

At the end, Dimitry helped clear the spend shells with the sergeant as the instructor cleaned the guns. He wanted to talk to the instructor, one who he guessed was not really called Vassily. He then made the connection, to the teenage MI6 operative masquerading as Alex Friend. Alex Rider had 'died' nearly two years ago, but there were subtle similarities.

The blond man pulled off his glasses as the last pistol was clean, safe and ready for storage. He rubbed his nose and smiled at Dimtry, the one cadet who would pass onto full spy training.

"I guess I can call you a ghost, Mr. Friend?" Dimitry said in English.

Alex then smiled to show crooked and stained teeth, gold fillings in the molars. "Friend? My name is Vassily Denisov, I am an orphan from Ukraine." The English excellent but with a slight accent, suggesting his Eastern European origins rather than Russian.

Alex's teeth had been perfectly straight, this stranger had a slimmer nose and other subtle differences made Dimitry doubt his connection. "Sorry, you look like a boy I went to school with."

The Sergeant watched the instructor leave, when he approached the cadet. "Ivanov, that man is one of your Uncle's special projects. He is a deadly weapon. He has been fully trained, conditioned by torture and brutality. Methods perfected by terrorists and used on a small group of orphans. He is rumoured to be the only one to survive his training then given a new name and background. The Project was called 'Rebirth'."

…

Dimitry entered his home that evening. His aunt was at the ballet and his uncle was already home eating junk and watching a hockey game on the TV. "Come sit, Dima. I have snacks and a beer poured for you. Spartak are loosing already."

The young cadet sat down. "Training was weird. Funny, I thought the instructor was Alex… Alex Friend… from school in France. Only he smiled wrong, had awful teeth, but for a moment I could have sworn it was him."

The General switched off the TV. "You have passed our test and so has Vassily. You have been trained to observe, to memorise, to make note of all you meet and make connections. You will be an excellent spy. Vassily was born two years ago, his life before that has been wiped from our records and more importantly disavowed by MI6. To them , Alex Rider never saved you nor Russia, in death black ops operatives cease to exist officially. Your instructor was remade from the boy left for dead. Project Rebirth is a smoke screen. Vassily is our very capable secret weapon. He has undertaken several high profile missions with excellent results. The fact you could not make the connection, despite the fact he saved you, means we have done a excellent job. Lets watch the game."

Dimitry sat and paid no attention to the game. He was now part of the Great Game. He was party to state secrets. Alex was the ultimate player of this high stakes game. No, no longer Alex. Alex was dead and Vassily was a killer. One he was probably being trained to handle. He suddenly wondered if he made the wrong choice, to follow in the family business. He would have to work to keep his humanity, not to become a monster. He would never become the image of evil in his mind, the grinning clone who had wanted this power. His uncle was not a bad man, he had not destroyed Alex's life. "Tell me, Vassily was given a choice. I thought he wanted to be a footballer."

"Your rescuer wants different things now, ten years working for us then retirement. He will disappear to live on the Back Sea with his lover. He just has different dreams now." Alexandrov knew his pet project wanted to sow chaos for his former abusers. He was just taking advantage of this situation.

…

The sleek 30ft yacht cleared the marina and headed out onto the wine dark Black Sea. Alex sat beside her skipper as he steered her straight and true, still using her outboard rather than her sails. They were headed for a secluded cove, not far; but a weekend spent without any spying eyes.

"Full circle, Yasha. For both of us. My first job over, considering I never wanted to be a killer, I find the work suits me. To think if that bitch Rothmans had treated me properly I'd have been a seasoned professional by now,"

Cossack smiled wistfully and shrugged, She could not see Hunter for the free spirit he was. Just like his son. "You are already a seasoned professional, that job in Kazakhstan, only a truly gifted marksman could have pulled it off. You are my equal after I had been working for three years." Hunter had been a sniper for nearly fifteen years when he had taken on his apprentice and pulled off the double kill shot in the Amazon. "So, to more personal scores to settle, I have the names of two MI6 deep cover agents. A slow or a quick death for your former hunters?"

The eighteen year old looked up at Betelguese and pondered this bonus offer "I now you'd prefer slow. Can we flay them? Just something Ivan would not approve of." His FSB handler was quite squeamish over the finer aspects of Dr. Three's methods.


End file.
